Don't Let Go
by allthingsdecent
Summary: House discovers a bridal magazine in Cuddy's briefcase. Freaks out.
1. Chapter 1

"Wilson, we have a problem," House said, collapsing on the couch in Wilson's office.

"I'm sure it's extraordinarily dire, House," Wilson said, putting on his lab coat. "But it's going to have to wait. I'm late for a consult."

"It can't wait," House said. "It's a matter of life and death."

"Patient?" Wilson said, concerned.

"Girlfriend," House said.

Wilson smiled tolerantly, pocketed his iPhone and turned off the lamp on his desk.

"I'll come find you in a few hours," he said. "I'm sure you—and your relationship—will survive until then."

He started for the door.

"She wants to marry me," House said.

Wilson stopped in his tracks.

"_What?_"

"She wants to be Dr. Lisa House. Or Dr. Lisa Cuddy-House. Or Dr. Lisa House-Cuddy. Or just plain Lisa Cuddy, if she's feeling particularly Susan B Anthony-ish. Whatever the case, she wants me to put a ring on it."

Wilson folded his arms. "And she _told_ you this?"

"No, she didn't have to. I found definitive proof."

"What kind of proof?"

"I happened to see inside her briefcase—"

"What were you doing looking in her briefcase?"

"Stay focused, Wilson. I happened to see inside her briefcase and I found a bridal magazine. It was called Your Big Day."

Wilson said nothing.

"_Your. Big. Day_."

"I get it. And you're sure it was Cuddy's?" Wilson said.

"Well, it sure as hell wasn't mine."

"I mean, is it possible she was just holding it—for a friend?"

"Because that always happens," House said, adding. "Come to think of it, my dad never bought that line when he found my stash of weed, either."

"It's just. . .not like Cuddy to be into all into that girly, wedding-y stuff."

"She's a woman. She's genetically programmed to be into all that girly, wedding-y stuff."

Wilson looked at him.

"So?"

"So what?"

"So, have you considered it? You've been dating over a year. We both know that you're never going to do better than Cuddy. Frankly, it's miracle that she's stayed with you this long."

"Fair point," House said, nodding.

"So maybe you ought to make an honest woman out of her, before she wises up."

"Please. I mean, can you really see me walking down the aisle in a penguin suit, while Pachelbel's Canon plays and Rachel and a bunch of her preschool minions pelt me with flowers?"

"Well, there's more than one way to skin a wedding," Wilson said, pleased with his play on words.

"Meaning?"

"You can just do something quiet. No penguin suits. No flower girls. At a justice of the peace."

"What part of _Your Big Day_ didn't you understand?"

"Maybe she'll compromise," Wilson said.

"Oh yeah, because Cuddy's all about compromise. Besides, even if she did agree to get married by a justice of the peace, the end result would still be Greg House: husband. Just try to wrap you mind around that concept."

"The mind does reel," Wilson acknowledged. "So what are you going to do?"

"I don't know. Is the Witness Protection Program too extreme?"

"I think you have to talk to her. Get it out in the open before it drives a wedge between you two."

House looked pained.

"How do you tell the woman that you love that you don't want to marry her?"

Wilson chuckled.

"You're clearly asking the wrong guy."

######

That night, Cuddy climbed into bed next to House.

She propped her head on her elbow and looked at him.

"You were awfully quiet during dinner," she said. "Is something bothering you?"

"No," he said, yawning theatrically. "I'm fine."

"You sure? I didn't see you once all day. If I didn't know better, I'd say you were avoiding me."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"Okay," she said, giving him a slightly kittenish smile. "Just as long as I have your full attention right now."

She kissed him on the mouth, which was usually all it took to get him to start groping her. Instead, he rolled over and turned out the light.

"G'night," he said.

"Ooooooh no," she said, turning the light back on. "Spill it."

He side-eyed her.

"I don't want to talk about it," he said.

"No. You don't get to obsess. You're like a dog with a bone when you obsess and it's very annoying. So just preemptively put us both out of our misery and tell me what's bothering you."

"Well, if you must know, I found it."

"Found what?"

"That horrible magazine," House said.

"What magazine?"

"The one with the blushing bride on the cover."

"Your Big Day?" she said. "The magazine that was _in my briefcase_? What the hell were you doing looking through my briefcase?"

"Why is everyone burying the lead on this? I saw a wedding magazine! Amongst your belongings."

"And you naturally assumed it was mine?"

"Yes. I also assumed that the pens, papers, and business cards that read 'Dr. Lisa Cuddy, Dean of Medicine" were yours, too."

"You're too much."

"_I'm_ too much?"

"Yes, House. It was my magazine. And it was in my briefcase. But it wasn't for me. It was for Dr. Gordon. She's getting married. She found out I was going to Barnes & Noble and asked me to pick it up for her."

"Uh huh," House said skeptically.

"Please, House. Do you really think I'm one of those women who's obsessed with Vera Wang gowns and four-tier wedding cakes?"

"The fact that you even know who Vera Wong—"

"Wang."

"The fact that you even know who Vera Wang is suggests that you are."

"Don't be insane. If I wanted to go down some traditional path, I would've stuck with Lucas. I picked you, my favorite lunatic, instead."

House squinted at her.

"So you really don't want to get married?"

She shook her head.

"The only time I ever expect you to get down on one knee is when you want to put your head up my skirt."

"Sounds like fun," he said.

"Everything's been great between us," she said seriously. "Why rock the boat?"

He looked for the usual tell: The head tilt. But she seemed completely sincere.

"In that case," he said, crawling on top of her. "Let's rock the bed instead."

"Aaaaaand he's back!"

#####

He was mostly convinced, but not entirely. After all, she knew that he knew her tell. Maybe she had gotten rid of it.

So he juggled his schedule and arranged to "bump into" Dr. Sandra Gordon in the hall.

"Dr. Gordon, I understand congratulations are in order," he said.

"Thanks House," she said, surprised.

"So you _are_ getting married?"

"Isn't that why you just congratulated me? Or did I win the hospital raffle and just not know about it?"

"No, the wedding part. . . And Dr. Cuddy's role in all of this?"

"Yes, she's one of my bridesmaids. But don't worry House. She told me you weren't coming to the wedding. She said—and I quote—'House is allergic to the whole institution of marriage.'"

###

"Turns out, she doesn't want to marry me," House muttered, squirting ketchup on Wilson's fries.

"Hey! I don't like ketchup," Wilson said.

"I do," House shrugged.

"But that's good, right?" Wilson said, eyeing him. "Because you don't want to marry her, either."

"Right," House said.

"Then why do you look so unhappy?"

"Well, it would be nice if she wanted to marry me a _little_," he said, dumping an excessive amount of salt and pepper on the fries.

"I'm sure she does," Wilson said, shaking his head at House's adventures in seasoning.

"Says who?"

"Says. . ."—Wilson thought about it for a second—"Cuddy."

House stopped eating.

"You've talked to her about this?"

"Several times."

"What? How come you never told me?"

"I figured it was between you and Cuddy."

"Tell me what she said, Wilson. Be specific."

"She said that in some alternate universe, she would like to marry you. It's just that she knows it's not going to happen in this one, so she's adjusted her expectations."

House furrowed his brow and stared at a fry without eating it.

"Huh," he said.

######

A few weeks later, House was in the DDx room when Cuddy marched in.

"Need you," she said.

He popped up.

"Look busy," he told his team. "I'm sure there are some angry birds that urgently need your attention."

He followed her into his office.

"I got it!" she said, when he had closed the door.

"The grant?"

For the past six months, Cuddy had been trying to secure a 5 million dollar grant from a national healthcare fund. It was an extremely big deal. Only 6 hospitals in the country were receiving them.

If they were home alone, he probably would've hugged her. But he could see his team watching them through the glass.

"Way to go," he said, with a slight smile.

"Thanks," she said. "You always said I would get it, but I guess I didn't quite believe you."

"Ye of little faith."

"The important thing is, you always had faith in me," Cuddy said, beaming at him.

"Experience tells me that once you put your mind to something, you're pretty much unstoppable," he said.

She leaned across the desk, gave him a light kiss on the lips.

"Well, thanks," she said. "You've been my rock during all of this."

"You're welcome," he said. "I expect to be the beneficiary of your gratitude later tonight."

"Count on it," she said, flirtatiously.

As she began to leave, House asked, "So what did the board say when you told them?"

"I haven't told them yet," she said. "When I found out, I came straight to you."

#######

The next day, Cuddy set up a meeting in the auditorium where she told the entire staff.

Most of her recent staff meetings had been dreary affairs, with Cuddy trying in vain to keep morale up in the midst of layoffs and budget cuts.

But today was a cause for celebration—and the vibe was downright giddy.

House took particular pride in noting that Cuddy's employees weren't just happy—they were happy _for her_. It was a sign of good leadership, he thought, that they were so invested in her triumphs.

After the meeting let out, House hung by the door, waiting to walk her back to her office.

"Congratulations, House," said Dr. Alan Boyd, the head of immunology, as he walked by. And he slapped House on the back.

#####

A few weeks later, House got home from work on the late side.

Rachel and Cuddy were camped out in front of the TV, watching some sort of cartoon.

"Hi," they said in unison, waving, and not looking up from the TV.

House limped over the couch.

"I'm hungry," he said hopefully.

"There's some leftover pizza in the fridge," Cuddy said.

"_Really_?" House muttered.

"We want popcorn! We want popcorn!" Rachel sang.

"Yeah! Popcorn!" Cuddy sang with her.

"Jesus, what am I, the butler?" House said.

But he heated his pizza and nuked some popcorn, then grabbed a beer and joined them on the couch.

"Thank you," Cuddy said, taking the bowl of popcorn from House and stretching out her legs on his lap.

House went to put his beer on the coffee table.

"Use a coaster!" Cuddy scolded, swatting his hand.

"Anything else slave boy can do for you?" he grumbled.

Rachel laughed.

"You said slave boy," she said.

"Poor baby," Cuddy said, in mock sympathy. "Not a domestic goddess in sight to cater to your needs."

He sighed.

"What are we watching? Why are those toys talking?"

"That's Woody," said Rachel. "He reminds me of Uncle Wilson. And that's Buzz Lightyear. He's very brave."

"So he must remind you of me, huh?" House said.

And Rachel collapsed into a fit of giggles.

Later, from bed, House watched Cuddy, who was sitting on the toilet bowl, shaving her legs. A certain ease had settled into their relationship where she didn't feel a need to hide all her beauty rituals from him. He loved it.

"What are you looking at?" she said, suspicious.

"You," he said.

Her hair was tied up with a scrunchie and she was wearing a pair of his boxer shorts and an old tank top.

She snorted.

"Who can blame you? I'm every man's fantasy. You're livin' the dream, pal."

"I am," he said, sincerely.

"You just want to get laid tonight," she said, wiping the extra shaving cream off her legs with a towel and walking up to the bed.

She leaned down and kissed him on the mouth. She tasted of toothpaste.

"Can't a man compliment his woman without it being a shameless ploy for sex?" House said, putting his hands on her waist and tucking his thumbs under the elastic of her boxers.

"In your case? No," she said. "But don't worry. I put out."

And she took off her tank top and climbed on top of him.

########

After sex, Cuddy fell asleep, as she almost always did. House watched her. She was cold. Still sleeping, she yanked the covers off him, then kicked him. He tried to get at least a corner of the covers back, but she had them in an absolute death grip.

He spooned her, as much for warmth as for affection. Her sleeping body naturally readjusted to mold into his.

"Don't let go," she murmured sleepily.

_So this is what happiness feels like_, he thought.

######

House was at his desk, lost in concentration, staring at a scan.

"That must be one helluva scan," Wilson said, loudly.

House jumped.

"Jesus, man. Don't sneak up on a guy like that."

"I've been standing her for several minutes. What are you looking at?"

"Uh, just a lower GI scan," House said, quickly putting the scan into his desk drawer.

"And why have you been so anxious all day? You nearly jumped out of your skin when your pager went off this morning."

"Nothing. I guess I'm just a little preoccupied," House said.

"Disciplinary board meeting?" Wilson asked.

"No? Why?"

"You're wearing a new shirt. And you actually shaved."

"Sorry to disappoint you," House said. "It's casual Friday and I like to zig when everyone else zags."

"Then what's on your mind?"

"Vexing case," House said, in a voice that suggested he wanted Wilson to drop it.

So Wilson left.

A few minutes later, Thirteen came into his office. House had taken the scan back out of his top drawer and was still puzzling over it.

"What's that?" she said.

"I'm a doctor. Looking at a scan. Why is everyone acting like this is some sort of highly suspect behavior on my part?"

"Whoa there, cowboy. Just wondering if that was Mr. Lee's MRI."

"Who's Mr. Lee?"

"Our patient?"

"Oh yeah. Him. . .I think Chase has it."

"Okay," she said. She started to leave, then stopped.

"House, are you wearing _aftershave_?"

"Get out, Thirteen."

########

He took a deep breath, smoothed his hair a bit, and entered her office.

"I need you to take a look at this scan," he said.

"Can it wait, House?" Cuddy said. "I'm swamped."

"It's pretty urgent," House said.

She looked up from her computer and held out her hand in an impatient, "gimme" sort of way.

"What am I looking at?" she said.

"You tell me."

She squinted at the scan.

"It looks like someone swallowed a . . ._diamond ring_?"

She looked up at him.

"Nice rock, huh?" he said, smiling a bit.

"I'll say," she said. "There's got to be a good story behind this. But why are you. . ."

And her mouth dropped open as House got down on one knee.

He reached into the pocket of his jacket, pulled out a small box.

"No way," she said.

"The scan's a fake," he said. "But the ring is real."

He opened the box.

Cuddy felt her face go crimson.

"Cuddy, it occurred to me, that not marrying you was the wrong play entirely," he said, studying her face. "You see, when a miserable SOB like me gets lucky, he should do everything in his power to stay lucky. And that's why I want you to be my wife. Correction: That's why I need you to be my wife. So, when you come to your senses, you'll be trapped."

And he smiled.

From outside the door, Cuddy's assistant had seen House drop to the floor.

"Oh my God!" she shrieked, which got everyone's attention.

A small crowd of nurses had now gathered in front of Cuddy's office. They were craning their necks.

"What's going on?" said Wilson, who heard the commotion on his way to the clinic.

"House just got down on one knee!" Cuddy's assistant said.

"Did he fall?" Wilson said, not getting it.

"No, he's proposing!"

"_What?"_

He looked into the office. Sure enough, there was House, slowly standing up and placing a ring on Cuddy's finger and then Cuddy was crying and laughing and hugging House and House was smiling the most relieved, grateful, blissed-out smile Wilson had ever seen on his friend's face.

The nurses burst into applause and, noticing them, Cuddy buried her face in House's neck.

"Holy shit, the bastard really did it," Wilson said. And he joined the applause.


	2. Chapter 2

House hung back in the office and watched as Cuddy was swarmed by nurses—who hugged her and kissed her and oohed and ahhed over the ring.

Wilson wandered up to him, grinning like an idiot.

"Look at what you did," he said, slapping House on the back and gesturing toward the giddy scene.

House nodded.

"So _that_ happened. . ." he said.

Wilson shook his head, in a marveling sort of way.

"How did you even keep this from me, you dog?"

"To be honest, I didn't want to tell you because I was afraid I was going to pussy out."

"But you didn't," Wilson said. "You manned up and asked. And she said yes."

"She said yes," House repeated, slightly dazed.

Out of the corner of his eye, Wilson caught sight of the scan, which Cuddy had left on the desk.

He picked it up.

"So _this_ is what you were so lost in thought over before," he said, chuckling. "Ahhh, the old fake ring on the scan gambit."

"A time-honored tradition," House said.

"This is some pretty expert photo doctoring, doc: How'd you pull it off?"

"Funny story: This actually _is _Taub's intestine. I made him swallow the ring. But don't worry, I cleaned it thoroughly before I gave it to her."

Wilson snorted.

"Seriously, House. How'd you do it?"

"Turns out, Tom in radiology knows his way around photoshop," House admitted.

"But last I checked, Tom in radiology hated your guts."

"I bribed him," House said.

"With what?"

"I promised him that you would lance and biopsy the boil. . .on his scrotum," House said.

Wilson shook his head, exasperated but amused.

By now, the crowd around Cuddy had thinned out. The nurses intuitively knew that even on one of the best days of her life, Cuddy wasn't going to tolerate _this_ much socializing.

"I'm going to leave you alone with your _fiancée_," Wilson said, exaggerating the French pronunciation.

He shook House's hand, slapped him on the back one more time, gave Cuddy a congratulatory kiss and left.

Cuddy closed the door behind him and they were alone.

She bit her lip and looked at him.

"I'm still in shock," she said.

"But you're happy, right?" he said.

"Deliriously," she said, kissing him.

"Me too."

He kissed her back—not a chaste, office-approved peck, but a rather lustful kiss, with his hands roaming her ass.

"How bout the traditional post-proposal quickie in your bathroom," he whispered.

"House, I can't. I was swamped before your little unexpected disruption. Now I'm positively under it."

"Really?" House said, kissing her again and walking her toward the bathroom as they embraced. "What's the point of proposing in the afternoon if not for some afternoon delight?"

"This _was_ my afternoon delight," she said, looking at the ring happily. "And besides, you have a case. I'll come find you as soon as I'm free."

House sighed.

"Okay," he said. "I'll see you later, future wife of mine."

#####

When House got to the DDx room, his team was exchanging money—a bet of some sort, with Chase as the bookie.

They looked up guiltily when they saw him and Chase shoved a wad of cash in his back pocket.

"Collecting money for my birthday present?" House said.

"It's just a bet. . . about a ridiculous rumor that's going around," Taub said.

House looked at them.

"It's true," he said mischievously.

Taub narrowed his eyes.

"Wait. . .what's true?"

"The rumor," House said.

"Which one?" Taub said, still skeptical.

"That Wilson is really a woman," he said. Then he feigned guilt. "Oh wait, that _wasn't _the rumor? Damn!"

There were half-hearted laughs.

"House, did you just propose to Cuddy or what?" Thirteen blurted out.

"Depends. Who bet what?"

"Why should that matter?" Taub said. "Either you did, or you didn't."

"Let me guess," House said, slowly circling the table, his arms folded.

"The Jewish Napoleon here obviously finds the rumor ridiculous," he said. "So he bet no. And well, we all know that Thirteen isn't like the other girls when it comes to romance, so she bet no, too. . . Foreman has been secretly 'shipping' me and Cuddy—as the kids say on the internet—for years now so he clearly bet yes and Chase didn't want Foreman to win big on the off chance the rumor was true so he also bet yes. How'd I do?"

"Nailed it," Chase said, impressed.

"Now tell us that marriage is a plebian institution for conformists and troglodytes and anyone who even entertains the idea that you would stoop to such banalities is a moron," Taub said.

"There's only one way to know for sure," House said. "Cuddy's in the conference room, meeting with some donors. Go check her finger. It either has a beautiful 2 carat House family heirloom on it, or it doesn't."

"You're messing with us," Thirteen said.

"Am I?"

They all looked at him.

"Go now," House said. "I'll wait. First person to come back with the correct intel gets an extra 100 bucks from me."

They exchanged looks and all shot up from the table—frantically running down the hall toward the conference room.

Chase slammed into Nurse Jeffrey, who was annoyed, until he realized it was Chase—then he smiled flirtatiously.

"What's the rush, sailor?"

"Excuse me," Chase said.

"Pardon me," Taub said, pushing Chase aside, and scampering ahead.

They all arrived at the conference room at roughly the same time and skidded to a stop. Cuddy was holding court for a bunch of important looking people. At first, she didn't notice them.

They craned their necks; Taub did a little pogo maneuver where he used Foreman's shoulders as an anchor so he could see better.

"I can't see her left hand," Taub said, pogo-ing again.

Finally, Cuddy noticed the four members of House's team hopping outside the room.

She rolled her eyes, held up her hand, and waved it at them. The beautiful diamond gleamed in the light.

Their mouths collectively dropped open.

"Holy crap," Taub said.

Thirteen gave a low whistle.

"I knew it!" Foreman said.

It was Chase who got his wits about him quickly enough to realize that House's hundred dollar bounty was still on the line.

"See ya!" he said. And darted back to the DDx room.

######

That night, at about 7 pm, Cuddy made her way up to House's office.

"There she is," House said. He leaned back in his chair, his hands clasped behind his head, and took her in.

"I don't know how I got any work done today," she said, striding up beside him. "I've been on cloud nine all afternoon."

"Me too," he said, putting his arms around her.

"So you actually _got_ work done today?" she said, laughing. "How novel."

"Cute," he said.

She hiked up her skirt, and sat on his lap, straddling him.

"Hi," she said softly.

"Hello," he said.

Then she whispered in his ear, "I can not wait to get home and have my way with you."

"Wow. I should propose more often," he said.

######

At dinner, the grownups got Veuve Cliquot and Rachel got sparkling cider in a champagne glass.

Cuddy showed Rachel her ring.

"You like?" she said.

"It sparkles!" Rachel said.

"Yes, it does. It's called an engagement ring. House gave it me. Do you know why?"

"Because he thinks you're pretty," Rachel said.

"Precisely," House said.

"Because we're going to get married!"

"Yay!" Rachel said. She clapped her hands. Then a look of slight befuddlement crossed her face.

"Do you even know what that means, sweetie?"

"Nuh-uh," Rachel admitted.

"House is going to be my husband. And I'm going to be his wife," Cuddy said.

"And I'm going to be his daughter?" Rachel asked, jubilant.

House and Cuddy exchanged a look.

"I. . .well. . . I . . ." Cuddy stammered.

"We're definitely going to be a real family," House said. "And now it's official."

"Yay!" Rachel said, temporarily satisfied.

House raised his champagne glass.

"To my two favorite girls," he said.

And they clinked.

#######

Several hours later, House and Cuddy lay naked, side by side in bed, both catching their breath.

Cuddy sighed langorously.

"So how do you want to do this anyway?" she said. "Justice of the peace? Vegas?"

"I was thinking maybe the garden of that old stone house you took me to see that Bach thingy that one time," House said, idly tracing Cuddy's naked body with his index finger.

"It was Beethoven," Cuddy said. Then she looked at him. "_Really?_ You want to get married at Fernwood Mansion?"

He shrugged.

"Why not?" he said. His finger lingered at the arc of her hip. "It's a perfectly nice mansion, as mansions go."

"Wait! You want to have a real wedding? With guests? And flowers? And . . . a string quartet?"

"I was thinking more along the lines of a jazz combo, but yes," he said. His finger was now tracing the slope of her breast. "What? You thought I wanted to get married by an Elvis impersonator?"

"Kind of," Cuddy said. She was trying to focus on the conversation and not get too turned on by his handiwork.

"Lisa Cuddy, you are way too classy a broad for an ersatz wedding," he said.

"I don't really care what kind of wedding it is, as long as the end result is you're mine," she said, trying to sound convincing.

"I distinctly remember somebody telling me that they wanted to wear a white gown at their wedding," House said, lightly playing with her nipple.

"Well, yeah. . .in theory. But that was before my theoretical wedding had an actual groom."

"I'm hurt, Cuddy," he said. "I am fully prepared to give you your dream wedding, en route to becoming your dream husband."

She giggled, finally succumbed the sensation of House's hand on her breast, rolled on top of him.

"Who are you and what have you done with Gregory House?"

#######

A few days later, House came across Wilson in the cafeteria.

"What the hell are you doing, Wilson?"

"I'm playing Dungeons and Dragons, what does it look like I'm doing?" Wilson said.

"It looks like you're having lunch," House said.

"Yes, a strange—bording on insane—thing for me to be doing here in the cafeteria."

"Don't you think you should be spending all of your free time planning my bachelor party?"

"Planning a bachelor party is generally the province of the best man. And since I haven't been asked to be anyone's best man, I sit and I eat. . ."

House gave him a look.

Wilson looked back.

"You asshole, who else?" House said.

"A gentleman prefers to be asked properly before he agrees to be best man."

"James Wilson—best friend of mine. _Only _friend of mine. Please do me the honor of procuring me strippers, cigars, and breast-shaped shot glasses. . . . And of making sure I come out of all of this without losing my mind."

"When you put it like that, I have no choice but to accept," Wilson said.

And they grinned at each other.

#####

Later that day, House got a call from Cuddy.

"How are you feeling?" she asked.

"Good. Why?"  
>"Well rested?" she said. "In relatively good spirits?"<p>

"We both know I didn't get a lot of rest last night, ergo my spirits are high."

"Perfect."

"And again I ask, 'Why?'"

"Because I invited Julia and my mother over for dinner tonight. It's time we told them about our engagement."

########


	3. Chapter 3

Where's your blue shirt?"

"Dirty."

"What about your pink shirt?"

"Dirty."

"What about your black tee-shirt?"

"Dirty."

"That was a trick question, House. You're _wearing_ your black tee-shirt."

"I know. Which is how I know for a fact that it's dirty."

They were in Cuddy's bedroom getting ready for the imminent arrival of Arlene and Julia.

Rachel was on the floor coloring.

House was on the bed.

"Don't you have any clean clothes _at all_, House?" Cuddy said, rifling through the two drawers she had set aside for him in the bureau.

"No, which is why it's a much better idea for me to ride things out at the bar at Clyde's while you break the news to your family."

"First of all, this is not a cancer diagnosis. We're not _breaking the news_ to anybody. We're celebrating. Second of all, nice try."

"It was worth a shot," House said, with a shrug.

Then he turned to Rachel.

"Kiddo, I have a very important assignment for you. I'm counting on you to bail me out if things get rough. If I utter the words, 'Don't have a cow, Arlene,' I need you to say, 'Yay! We're going to be a family!' And then clap your hands. Got it?"

"Got it," Rachel said, taking her job quite seriously.

"Let's practice. 'Don't have a cow, Arlene.'"

"Yay! We're going to be a family!" Rachel said, clapping and giggling so hard she toppled over.

"That was excellent. Maybe a little less enthusiasm next time. You don't want to oversell it. Think Shirley Temple in Bright Eyes meets a young Jodie Foster in Taxi Driver."

"House," Cuddy shot him a look.

"Just kidding," he said. But he gave Rachel the thumbs up.

Cuddy finally found a relatively clean—albeit wrinkled—white button-down shirt. "Here, wear this," she said, throwing it at him. "And wear your gray blazer."

"Maybe we shouldn't be setting the bar this high on my appearance right out of the gate," House said, catching the shirt.

"Yes, a clean shirt is a high bar," she chuckled. "Just get dressed, House."

#####

An hour later, they were all sitting around the table—Julia, her husband Michael, Arlene, House, Cuddy, and Rachel—eating dinner. Cuddy had picked up a roast chicken and cous cous on the way home from work.

After first complaining that her own daughter couldn't be bothered to make her a home-cooked meal, Arlene had now moved onto griping about the dust in the ceiling fan, and the fact that Rachel's toys were scattered dangerously around the floor.

"Somebody could trip and break an ankle," she said.

Finally, she leaned back in her chair and addressed the whole table. "So am I supposed to be just ignoring the modestly-sized—considering you both have doctor's salaries—ring on my eldest daughter's finger?"

"It's a family heirloom," House muttered, under his breath.

"I was waiting for someone to notice!" Cuddy said, smiling broadly. She held out her hand.

"It's true! We're getting married."

"'Bout damn time," Arlene said, grabbing her daughter's hand and inspecting the ring more closely.

"Congratulations," Michael said merrily.

But Julia got up from the table.

"Excuse me," she said.

"Julia!" Cuddy popped up after her.

"She's overcome with emotion," House said unconvincingly, watching them both rush away.

Julia raced down the hall and went straight to the bathroom, locking the door behind her.

"Julia, what the hell is wrong with you?" Cuddy said, banging on it. "Open up."

"I'm fine. I just need a minute."

"Jules, c'mon. . . let me in," Cuddy said.

Julia sighed, opened the door. She had splashed some water on her face.

"Not exactly the reaction I was hoping for," Cuddy said, ironically.

Julia looked at her, tried to find the words.

"It's just. . .how could you?" she said finally.

"How could I what?"

"Agree to marry him."

"For the usual reason: Because I love him."

"But he's. . .an asshole."

"He's not an asshole to me."

"That's debatable," Julia said. "But also irrelevant. An ass is an ass."

"So he's not warm and fuzzy. Big deal. Neither am I. If I had a nickel for every time someone called me a bitch, I'd have Rachel's college fund fully paid for."

"He's a drug addict!"

"He's not on drugs anymore. He's been clean for two years," Cuddy said defensively. "Why can't you just celebrate with me? Why do you always have to undermine my happiness?"

"I'm not doing that, Lisa. I'm trying to protect you."

"I don't need protection," Cuddy said. "House protects me. And I protect him. That's how it works."

"You're a mother. Do you really want an anti-social, hostile, misanthropic former drug addict raising your daughter?"

"He loves Rachel. . .in his own way. And she adores him."

"As Rachel's aunt, I worry about her getting hurt."

"And as Rachel's mom, I think I know what's best for my own daughter."

The two sisters glared at each other.

"I just think you're making a colossal mistake," Julia said. "And you should seriously reconsider before you're in too deep to back out."

"I don't want to back out!" Cuddy said. "House is complicated. I know that. He's dark. I know that, too. He's also the most brilliant, challenging, exhilarating man I've ever known. And, not incidentally, he turns me on like nobody else." She said that last part with the slightest bit of defiance. Michael was many things—sexy wasn't one of them. "I've never been happier."

"I just hope you know what you're doing," Julia said, in a defeated sort of way.

"I do," Cuddy said firmly. "And I certainly hope that your disapproval of my wedding won't get in the way of you being my maid of honor."

Julia smiled, somewhat sheepishly

"Of course it won't," she said. "I'd be proud to be your maid of honor."

"Thanks."

They hugged.

"Can we go back to the table now?" Cuddy said. "House has been out there with mom for 10 minutes . . ."

"And it's not going to end well," they said in unison.

Indeed, when they got to the table, Arlene was yammering on—Cuddy heard the words "convert" and "adopt"—and House had his head in his hands.

"Help," he mouthed to Cuddy.

"Thank God you're back," Arlene said. "We were just talking about House converting to Judaism and adopting Rachel. He's being very recalcitrant."

"Whoa, mom. You're a little ahead of yourself there," Cuddy said.

"That's what you said the last time I brought this up. Today, it would seem, my timing is perfect."

"House and I haven't really even discussed it."

"What's to discuss? If he's marrying you, he's going to adopt Rachel. Otherwise, people would talk."

"Not _people talking_," Cuddy said, in mock horror. "That would be unbearable."

"So what's he going to be to her? Her playmate? Her buddy? Her roomie? The strange guy who just happens to be shacking up with her mother?"

"Arlene," House said, glancing at Rachel. "Don't have a cow."

"Yay!" Rachel said, clapping. "Were going to be a family!"

#####

As everyone got their coats, Julia said to Michael, "Go start the car, I want to have a word alone with House."

"Sounds ominous," House said, only half joking.

Julia pulled him off to the living room.

"I want to apologize for my behavior before," she said, looking down. "It was a lot to process and I didn't do . . . a particularly good job of it."

"Oh no, locking yourself in the bathroom is a perfectly reasonable reaction when you find out that your sister is getting married."

"I'm trying to apologize here, House."

"And I accept your apology," House said.

"I also want to say congratulations. . .and"—she made eye contact—"hurt her and I'll fucking kill you."

House was slightly taken aback, but quickly recovered. "You could've saved your breath and just bought me a card from the Hurt Her and I'll Fucking Kill You section of the Hallmark store," he said.

"I'm serious."

"So am I," he said. "What part of, I love your sister and I want to spend the rest of my life with her don't you understand?"

"The part where you can't help yourself. The part where you try not to be a jerk, but it's your default state."

He considered another snide comment—about _her_ default state being castrating bitch—but two thoughts occurred to him. One, Cuddy wouldn't want him fighting with her sister. And two, he and Julia had something in common: They both loved Cuddy and would kill anyone who hurt her.

"Julia, I'd sooner lop off a limb than hurt your sister," he said softly. "And anyone who knows me, knows that I'm not a big fan of lopping off limbs."

Julia looked at him, noted the uncharacteristic sincerity in his voice and eyes—and backed off.

"Good," she said. "Then I support this wedding."

"Thanks sis," he said, grinning at her.

"Too soon," she said.


	4. Chapter 4

Chase wasn't quite sure why he was doing it—to protect her? to punish her?—but he convinced himself that he needed to tell Cameron about House's upcoming wedding to Cuddy.

In some ways, Chase's entire history with Cameron could be measured in units of Gregory House.

Of course, it was House who had first introduced them, put them on his team together. Chase had been smitten with Cameron from the start and smugly assumed that they would hook up. (They were both young and pretty and worked in close quarters. It was practically a no-brainer.)

So he was surprised, and more than a little baffled, when it became clear that Cameron only had eyes for their cranky boss. How was this even possible? House walked with a limp and was easily 20 years her senior. Plus, in temperament at least, he was her exact opposite. Where she was kind and open and considerate; he was jaded, world-weary, and, well, a jerk.

Chase knew the old adage about nice guys finishing last but that had never applied to him. Women had always loved him. So what was Cameron's deal? (It was only later, after Chase became aware of Cameron's obsession with fixing damaged men, that her infatuation with House at least made a _little _sense.)

Once he and Cameron started dating for real, he worried that she was still pining for House. He saw signs from time to time—the way Cameron fussed over House if he seemed to be in a particular amount of pain; the way she looked at him with admiration bordering on awe when he made one of his annoyingly brilliant diagnoses.

Eventually, Chase felt more comfortable with how things stood—he knew that Cameron would always hold some sort of torch for House, but she loved _him_. He was the one she married, the one she wanted to spend her life with.

And then, of course, it was House who pulled them apart. When Cameron left Chase after the Dibala incident, she claimed it was because he had somehow been corrupted by House—absorbed his ethical relativism, his lack of moral compass.

The irony was rich: Chase had spent most of his relationship with Cameron jealous of House and now he was losing her for being too much _like_ House.

Life was strange that way.

So yeah, maybe it was to punish her. Or maybe it was just to have an excuse to call her—they hadn't talked in over a year, not since the breakup sex that gave them some small measure of closure.

So he sat on his sofa, took a swig of beer, and dialed.

"Cameron. . .it's me," he said.

"Chase? Hi?"—the unexpected nature of his call prompted her greeting to sound more like a question—"Are you okay? Is everything all right?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. . . I'm good. There's just a bit of news and I thought it was best that you heard it from me."

"You're getting re-married," she said, in a resigned sort of way. "I guess I knew this call was going to come eventually."

"_What?_ No! I'm not getting married. . . House is."

Cameron emitted a sort of strange sound—half cough, half gasp.

"I'm sorry. It sounded like you just said that House was getting married."

"That's because I did."

"What? How is that even possible? To whom?"

"To Cuddy."

There was a very long silence.

"Lisa Cuddy?" she said, softly.

"Yeah Cameron. Who else?"

"But. . .House hates Cuddy."

"Actually, he doesn't. He's kind of crazy in love with her, if you must know."

"Is she. . . pregnant?"

"Pregnant? Judging by the tight blouse she wore today—not that I was staring or anything . . .I mean, we were in a meeting and it was hot and she took off her. . . .never mind that—I'd say definitely no. Not pregnant."

"Then how did she get him to agree to marry her?"

"He asked her. It was actually kind of ingenious how he did it. He doctored this scan to look—"

"House _asked_ Cuddy to marry him?" she interrupted. "Like, got-down-on-one-knee asked?"

"Apparently so."

More silence.

"Cameron, are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she said, unconvincingly. "So where are they doing it? City Hall? Vegas?"

"Remember that really beautiful spot we went for that picnic that one time? With the stone mansion and the lake with the ducklings?"

"House is getting married at Fernwood Mansion," Cameron said—her tone suggested she still thought Chase might be messing with her.

"Yup."

"And I assume you're going to this blessed event?"

"The whole team is going."

She was beginning to truly process the news.

"So when's the big day?"

"In two weeks."

"Wow. That soon, huh?"

"Yeah. The manor had a cancellation and they jumped on it. They both seem pretty eager."

"Are you bringing a date?" she asked.

"That is. . .yet to be determined," Chase said, cautiously.

"Would you consider. . .bringing me? I mean, House is an important person in my life—in both of our lives—and I'd like to be there to, uh, support him."

"_Really_?"

This was an unexpected turn of events.

"Well, yes. If you'll have me."

Chase shrugged.

"Sure Cameron. Why not? I guess it does have a certain. . . symmetry."

######

"Yes Mom," House was saying into the phone. "We can't wait to see you either. Uh huh. Yeah, she's right here. Hold on."

He turned to Cuddy.

"She wants to talk to you."

He handed her the phone.

"Hi Blythe!" she said cheerfully.

Ever since the wedding had been announced, Blythe and Cuddy had become fast friends.

"Yeah, they're kind of a purplish grey," Cuddy was saying into the phone. She was talking about the flowers—or maybe the bridesmaid dresses. Or maybe the plates. House could never tell for sure. "It's a subtle color—not, like, _purple_ purple, you know?"

House watched Cuddy for a second, amused. She had her knees bent behind her and she was propped up on one elbow. She looked every inch an excited teenage girl talking to a schoolmate.

He went into the kitchen to make himself a sandwich.

When he came back, she was in the exact same position, still yammering on merrily.

He twirled his finger in a "wrap it up" gesture.

She ignored him.

He made a fake gun and shot himself in the head.

She still ignored him.

He slapped her, hard, on the ass.

"Ow!" she said. Then into the phone, "Your son is being a two-year old because I'm not paying enough attention to him. Yeah. . .exactly. You know him well. . . right. Bye-bye."

She glared at him.

"That hurt House," she said.

"Sorry," he said, leaning down, and tugging at her boxers. "Let me kiss it and make it all better."

She rolled over, laughing. "You wish," she said.

"What on earth do you two talk about all the time?" he said, pulling off his tee-shirt and changing into pajama bottoms. "You seriously could've planned a royal wedding in less time."

"She's excited House. And so am I. Besides, we're getting to know each other."

"It's cute," he said, climbing into bed.

"Don't patronize me," she said.

"No, I mean it. You're, like, BFFs forever. Did she tell you about the dreamy boy in AP chem she's been crushing on hard?"

"Shut up. Your mother is extremely nice. _Shockingly_ nice, if you catch my meaning."

"I catch it," he said.

"She asked about our honeymoon," Cuddy said.

"We're having a honeymoon?" House said. "That's news to me."

"Do you want to have one?"

"I want what you want," he said.

Cuddy sat up.

"No," she said.

"No?"

"I mean, let's do what you want. This whole wedding thing is for me, House. You say otherwise, but I know it is. I mean, you want to get married, but if you had your druthers we'd do it at City Hall with Wilson as our sole witness."

House shrugged, not quite conceding.

"So let's do something for you. What's your dream honeymoon? Monster trucks? Laser tag? Visiting the world's largest ball of string?"

He brushed a lock of hair off her forehead, smiled, kissed her.

"How about Mont St. Michel?" he said.

"No! I'm serious, House. That's _my_ dream vacation, not yours. There's gotta be some place you've always wanted to go. Something you've always wanted to do. . . "

He looked at her.

"Well, there is _one _thing . . ." 


	5. Chapter 5

It was hard to be quiet and not crash into things when you were drunk out of your skull, the house was pitch-black, and you walked with a cane. But House tried anyway. His plan was to stealthily make his way into the bedroom—ninja-style—then quickly shower, then slip into bed without waking her.

He staggered forward, accidentally kicked one of Rachel's toy trains and almost wiped out. (So Arlene had been right—they _were_ a hazard.)

Then he crashed into an end table and almost knocked over a lamp. Then his keys loudly fell out of his pocket.

He finally made it to the bedroom. But had he been quiet enough?  
>"Hi," she murmured. "Was it fun?"<br>_Shit. . ._

"Yeah," he said quietly. "Go back to bed."

She leaned up sleepily for a goodnight kiss and he had no choice but to oblige. He leaned down to kiss her.

She sniffed.

"You smell like a distillery," she said. Then she sniffed again.

"And a candy store."

_Shit, shit, shit. . ._

She turned on the nightstand light, squinted at him.

"What the hell are you covered in?"  
><em>SHIIIIIIIT!<em>

"Wilson spilled a drink on me," House lied.

"It looks like he spilled several bottles on you," she said. Then she frowned, touched his shirt.

"Ewww, it's sticky. What the hell is that?"

She was completely awake now, sitting up in bed.

"It might be Jell-O," he said.

"Why, pray tell, are you coated in Jell-O?"

"There, uh, may have been some recreational Jell-O wrestling at the party," House said.

"Right. Of course. With the strippers. But that still doesn't explain why it looks like _you_ wrestled in Jell-O," Cuddy said.

"I got caught in the line of gelatin," House said. "An innocent victim."

She glared at him.

"You got a lap dance, didn't you? Some Jell-O-covered skank was grinding up against you."

"Absolutely not!" House protested.

"House, I told you to have fun. I told you I didn't mind the cigars, the booze, even the strippers. But what was the one thing you promised me before you left: The _one thing_?"  
>"No lap dances," he muttered.<p>

"And yet, your lap is covered in tell-tale Jell-O."

"I swear, it was just projectile Jell-O from standing ringside," House said.

"And Wilson is going to back you up on that?" Cuddy said.

"Of course!"

"Because you know that Wilson, and whatever alleged guy code you believe he adheres to, is no match for me, alone with him for five minutes, in a room."

House knew she was right. Wilson would fold like a cheap suit.

"Okay, maybe there was one tiny lap dance," he said. "But I didn't even like it."  
>"You know what else you're not going to like?" she said, throwing a pillow at him. "Sleeping on the couch. But thems the breaks. And take a shower first. I don't want you getting that crap all over the upholstery."<p>

#####

In the morning, he woke up to a pounding headache and Rachel looming above him.

"Why are you on the couch?" she demanded.

He tried to speak but his mouth was so dry he had to swallow a few times to produce any saliva.

"I didn't feel well last night so mommy thought it was a good idea for me to sleep on the couch," he said.

"Oh," she said, wrinkling her nose. "Your hair looks funny. And your face is smushed."

House rubbed his head, looked at her. Was she always this loud?

"Yeah. . .. still not feeling so hot. Maybe you better go play in your room. Or. . .watch TV. . .with the sound off."  
>"Okay," she said.<br>She flipped on the TV—her favorite, Yo Gabba Gabba, was on—but she didn't heed his warning about the sound. The insipid singing was going to be the death of him.

House groaned, wandered into the kitchen, where Cuddy was sitting at the table drinking coffee and reading the newspaper.

House went to pour himself a cup, but it was empty.

"You didn't make any for me?" he whined.

"Make your own damn coffee," she said.

"So I guess this answers the question: Is she still mad at me?"

"You're damn right I'm still mad at you."  
>"I just figured that making a cripple spend the night on a <em>highly uncomfortable<em> _couch_ would be more than enough punishment," he said.

He had discovered that if he drank directly from the coffee pot, there were still a few drops left. He tipped the pot into his mouth.

Cuddy looked at him, then laughed.

"What's so funny?" he said.

"You," she said. "You look pathetic."

"I am pathetic," he said.

"And I'm supposed to pity you?"  
>"No," he conceded.<p>

"Sit down," she said. "I'll make you some more coffee."

He slumped into a chair.

"Bless you."

Cuddy shook her head as she grinded the beans. Then she laughed again.

"It occurs to me that us arguing about you getting a lap dance at your bachelor party is quite possibly the most conventional fight we've ever had."

Even House, whose head was buried in his hands, was able to chuckle at that one.

"Good point," he said. Then he added: "I really am sorry, Cuddy . . . I got caught up in the moment."  
>"It's fine," she said. "Just saves me the trouble of having to give you the lap dance I was planning for our wedding night."<p>

House looked up from his hands.

"_Really?"_

She shrugged.

"No, seriously, Cuddy. _Really?"_

######


	6. Chapter 6

**Okay folks. There is a pretty dramatic turn of events in this chapter, but please remember, I am the Captain of the SS Huddy. So just take some deep, cleansing breaths. **

"This is dumb," House said into the phone.

"I know," Cuddy replied.

"I'm nervous. I can't sleep. I need you to give me my customary warm milk and blow job before bed."

Cuddy snorted.

"I'm sorry, but my mother is being adamant: The bride is strictly forbidden from seeing the groom the night before the wedding. No exceptions."

"She does realize that we've had sex already, right? Like, more than once!"

"Yeah, but she's a stickler for tradition."

"So sneak out," House said.

"I can't. This place is like Fort Knox. My car is blocked in the driveway. I have relatives sleeping in the living room. I'm trapped."

"Shit," House said.

"Sorry."

He paused.

"What are you wearing?"

"Well, it _feels_ like I'm wearing a 68-year-old Jewish woman, my entire extended family, and 300 years of truly idiotic wedding tradition. You?"

"Loneliness, abject disappointment . . . and my plaid robe," he said.

Cuddy chuckled.

"Go to sleep House. In less than 24 hours we'll be husband and wife and no one can ever make us sleep in separate beds ever again."

"I like the sound of that," he said.

"Me too," she said dreamily.

"Good night Mrs. House"

"Good night Mr. Cuddy."

After they hung up, House paced his apartment. He tried to read a book, but couldn't focus on any of the words. He flipped on the TV, but found that the flashing images made him even more anxious. He considered calling Wilson, but it was past midnight.

Crap. When he was nervous, he needed _her_. She had a wonderful way of keeping him grounded, of quieting all the noise in his head.

"Fuck it," he said outloud.

He was going to see her—if he had to climb a tree, break into her house, and break his neck to do it.

He grabbed his keys, opened the door—and slammed right into his bride-to-be.

She was standing in the hall, wearing a nightgown, robe, and over-large sneakers that were obviously not hers.

"Hi," she said, sheepishly.

"Cuddy!" he said.

He grabbed her, hugged her, and started kissing her greedily.

"You crazy, crazy woman! How did you do it?" he said. He couldn't keep his hands off her.

"It wasn't easy," she said, laughing, kissing him back. "I went through the kitchen, out the back door, and I had to steal the keys to Michael's Prius, which was the only car not blocked in the driveway. These are also his shoes, by the way."

"My little Bonnie Parker," he said, proudly.

"I can't stay long," she said. "No more than half an hour. Back in my teenage years, mom could always smell a breakout."

"Half an hour, huh?" he said, raising an eyebrow. "What _can_ we do?"

She grinned.

"You mentioned something about warm milk?"

####

About an hour later, she popped out of his bed.

"Alright, now I _really_ have to go. I'm sure my mother has put out an APB. And technically, I _am_ driving a stolen car."

"And wearing stolen shoes," he said.

He lay there, feeling pretty damn good about himself. Cuddy breaking the rules was always a turn-on to him. Cuddy breaking the rules to have sex with him was the ultimate aphrodisiac.

"Fuck 'em," he said, grabbing her hand. "Stay the night with me. I promise to post your bail if Michael—or your mom—presses charges."

"I can't. There's going to be a army of makeup and hair artists at the house tomorrow to make me presentable for the wedding."

"You couldn't look more beautiful to me than you do in this exact moment," he said.

She wrinkled her nose.

"That was cheesy, House," she said.

"Cheesy, but strangely true," he said.

She smiled.

"C'mon House. Let's have at least a _little_ bit of mystery on our wedding day," she said.

"Okay," he conceded, reluctantly letting go of her hand.

She leaned down, kissed him goodnight.

"You free tomorrow? Around 3 o clock?" she said.

"I have plans," he said. "But nothing I can't get out of."

They beamed at each other.

"See you tomorrow."

"See you tomorrow. . .and if you get busted by Arlene, remember: It was all your idea."

######

House was in the groom's dressing room, throwing a ball up against the wall and catching it.

The _thud_-_thud_-_thud _sound was driving Wilson bananas.

With House's next toss, Wilson stepped in and caught it before he could snatch it out of the air.

"Enough. It's like Chinese water torture."

"I'm stressed," House said. "I like to play with my balls when I'm stressed—but since it's my wedding day, I thought I'd throw this tennis ball instead."

Wilson smirked at him.

"How are you holding up?" he said.

"I may be dressed like James Bond, but I don't feel like him," House confessed.

"Speaking of which, who tied your bowtie this morning? Rachel? It's slightly. . ._askew_."

"Cuddy usually does it for me," House said. "But she abandoned me last night in my time of need. . ."

"I have a little experience with the old 'wedding bowtie,'" Wilson said. "Let me see if I can. . ."

"I'll do it," a woman's voice said. They both looked up.

"Cameron!" Wilson said.

"Whoa," House said. He blinked at her. "I didn't take you for the wedding crasher type, Cameron."

"I'm not technically crashing. I came with Chase. . .I hope you don't mind."

"No. I don't mind at all."

He was looking at her in that House way. Like he could read all her innermost thoughts. Like he knew that this day was killing her.

"I'll let you two. . .catch up," Wilson said cautiously. He looked at his watch. "15 minutes to showtime. See you out there."

And they were alone.

Cameron took him in—he looked dashing. The bastard always could wear a tux. He was clearly nervous, but in an eager, anticipatory way—like a prize fighter before a big bout. He looked undeniably. . .happy.

"House, you are literally the last person on earth I ever thought I'd see getting married," she said, lifting the collar of his shirt and untying his tie so she could start all over again. She hoped he didn't notice that her hands were shaking.

"You and me both, sister," he said with a slight smile.

"So how'd she talk you into it?"

"_Talk me into it_? Don't you mean, how did a loser like me get a catch like Lisa Cuddy to agree to marry him?"

"You're not a loser," she said, buttoning the top button of his shirt.

"Actually, I am. But don't tell Cuddy. She seems to be under the impression that I'm marriage material."

Cameron looked at him, weighing her words.

"I just. . . I always thought you were a one-woman man," she said.

"I am," he agreed.

"I thought that woman was Stacy." She looped the tie and tightened it.

"It was. . .a lifetime ago. But Cuddy is my present. And my future." He cocked his head: "And my past, come to think of it."

"I always knew you two had the hots for each other, I just never realized that. . ."

"We were in love?"

"Well, yeah."

"Then you should've been watching more closely, Cameron. Cuddy and I have been falling in love for ten years."

"Huh," she said. She made the bow and straightened the knot, smoothed it. It looked pretty good. "But you're Greg House. You hate conventional things. You _make fun _conventional things."

"Some conventional things actually make sense—like committing yourself to the person you want to spend the rest of your life with."

"But how can you be sure?"

"Sure?"

"That you want to spend the rest of your life with her?"

"I just am. She's my home, you know?"

Cameron felt a tear begin to sting the corner of her eye.

"Chase thought he was sure, too," she said.

"But he didn't leave you, now did he?"

And they stared at each other.

#####

Wilson was running around, making last minute preparations—giving final instructions to the ushers, confirming that the judge had arrived, hugging Blythe House hello —when he decided to check in on the bride.

He went to her dressing room, knocked on the door.

"Come in."

Julia was there and so was Arlene, but no sign of Cuddy.

"Thank God you're here," Julia said, in a panicky voice.

"Have you seen her?"

"Seen who?"

"Lisa. She's disappeared."

"_What?"_

"So she's not with House?" Arlene said skeptically.

"No. . . it's traditional for the bride and groom to not see each other before the wedding."

Arlene rolled her eyes.

"Yeah, right," she said. She had checked the mileage on Michael's Prius before she went to bed—she knew Cuddy had been to see House last night.

"She's not with him," Wilson sputtered. "He's talking to. . .an old friend. Where the hell is she?"

"I don't know," Julia said, biting her nail. "She stepped out half an hour ago to get some air and we haven't seen her since."

Wilson blanched.

"Okay, try to stall. She couldn't have gotten that far. I'm going to go find her. And whatever you do, do _not_ tell House."


	7. Chapter 7

A nervous murmur went through the crowd.

Everything seemed to be in place: Groom, bridesmaids, flower girls, the justice of the peace. But there was no sign of the bride—or the best man.

House stood there, looking uncomfortable, wondering what the hell was the holdup.

He shifted a bit on the balls of his feet. He fiddled with the collar of his shirt. He exhaled.

Was there any place more lonely than all by yourself at the altar?

Finally, an official from the mansion walked briskly to the front of the aisle, whispered something in House's ear. House's neck turned red.

Cameron looked at Chase: "What the hell is going on?" she whispered. The tiniest part of her was thrilled by this development.

"I have no idea," he whispered back, genuinely concerned.

House regained his composure.

"Small delay folks," he said, with a false amount of cheer. "Please stay in your seats. Or, uh, mull about. Or, yell 'fire!' and see what happens. We'll be back to your regularly scheduled wedding shortly."

And he limped off the stage. As he left, he gave his mother an unconvincing smile.

"It's fine," he said.

In reality, he wasn't sure it would ever be fine again.

######

Wilson had to keep himself from calling out her name, like he was looking for a lost dog.

He went to the pond, where a family of ducks were happily wading. He thought she might be sitting on the bench, but it was empty.

He looked under a group of trees and then in the corral where a donkey chewed its cud and stared at him.

No sign of Cuddy.

Finally, he saw a groundskeeper. An older guy, in stained overalls and a John Deere baseball cap.

"Have you seen a . . ."

"Beautiful woman in a wedding dress?" the guy said.

"That would be the one."

"I saw her about 40 minutes ago, heading to the barn," he said. And he pointed at a barn that was about 10 acres in the distance.

"She looked pretty upset," the groundskeeper offered.

'That makes two of us," Wilson said—and he ran toward the structure.

He was slightly out of breath when he got there. He opened the rickety door.

"Cuddy!" he yelled.

There was no answer.

There were two horses and a goat, but no sign of Cuddy. He opened one of the stables. And there she was, sitting on the floor, her back against the stable wall, her wedding dress pooled diaphanously around her.

"What the hell are you doing?" he said accusingly.

She looked at him.

"I have no idea, Wilson," she said. "I have no idea what I'm doing." Her voice sounded so pained that he took pity on her.

He sat on a bale of hay—he attempted to wipe it off first, but found there was literally no way to turn a bale of hay into a clean surface.

"You're getting married," he said softly. "To a man who loves you."

"I know he loves me," she said. "And I love him, too. So much, Wilson. So much that I allowed myself to go along with this charade."

"It's not a charade," Wilson said.

"Of course it is. This isn't House. This isn't what he wants. We're starting the rest of our lives with a lie."

"But he does want this," Wilson said. "That's why he's here. That's why he's standing at the altar at this very moment, probably freaking out because he doesn't know where the hell you are."

Cuddy closed her eyes.

"I feel like a fool," she said. "I feel like I allowed myself to get so swept up in the excitement of the proposal and the wedding planning, I didn't even stop to think: Where do we go from here? With me and House and Rachel living in some domestic utopia, like Ozzie and Harriet? I mean, c'mon, he's House. He'll be bored. He'll be resentful. He'll lash out. And Rachel and I will get caught in the crossfire."

"That's not fair!" Wilson said. "He's here because he loves you."

"That's the point!" she said. "He's just doing this for me. He claims he wants it, too. But I know otherwise. I'm forcing him to do something he doesn't want to do. And that never works with House. Never."

"He proposed to you," Wilson said. "You didn't ask for that. And he's the one who wanted this wedding. You didn't ask for that either."

"He's trying to please me. He walks on eggshells around me because he's so afraid of losing me," Cuddy said.

"Is that really so bad?" Wilson said.

She sighed, shook her head, shifted a bit on the barn floor.

That was when Wilson noticed the boots.

"Are you wearing _motorcycle boots_ with your wedding dress?" he asked.

She smiled, pulled up her train to reveal the rugged black boots.

"Yeah. . . that's what House and I are doing for our honeymoon. Taking a cross-country road trip on his motorcycle. It's like a fantasy of his or something."

She started to tear up.

"At least, that's what we were _going_ to do."

"You can still do it," Wilson said. "It's not too late. Go in there, marry the man you love. Start your life together."

She wiped her eyes.

"Wilson, do me a favor. Get him for me, okay? I need to talk to him. They've got one of those golf cart thingies. Make sure he uses it. He shouldn't be walking this far on his leg."

######

Wilson sprinted back to the mansion. House was sitting at a table in the bride's dressing room with Arlene, Julia, and Blythe.

He had his head in his hands.

"House, I need to talk to you," Wilson said quietly.

"Did you find her?" Arlene asked.

"Is she okay?" asked Blythe.

"Yes, I found her. And yes, she's okay. And she wants to talk to House—alone."

House popped up, followed Wilson into the hall.

"What the fuck is going on Wilson?" he said. His voice was shaking.

"She's freaking out a little bit," Wilson said. "Just some, uh, last minute jitters. You just need to talk her off the ledge."

"Does she still want to marry me or not?" House said.

"She does," he said, although he wasn't totally sure. "She's just scared. Just go to her. She's in the barn. In the stable. There's a golf cart you can ride to get you there faster."

House nodded, headed toward the golf cart.

Cameron came into the hall, saw Wilson.

"Is everything okay?" she said in a voice moist with concern.

"Everything's fine Cameron," Wilson shot back. "Go back to your seat."

####

House entered the stable and saw Cuddy sitting on the floor. Unlike Wilson, he sat down right next to her on the ground.

They were a strange sight—a man in a black tux, his legs stretched out in front of him and a woman in a white wedding gown, her legs bent at the knees and apart, sitting on a dirty barnyard floor, side-by-side.

"I didn't think you'd want to go for bestiality this early in the marriage," he said, a lame attempt at a joke.

She gave him a smile that said—I appreciate your stab at humor but we both know there's nothing funny about this situation.

"What's going on Cuddy?" House said. He sounded hurt, dejected, and more than a little scared.

She took his hand and something about the gesture freaked him out further. It was like she was preparing him for some bad news.

"You know I love you," she said.

"But . . .?"

"But . . .nothing. I love you. It's just that this isn't what you want."

"What _I_ want?"

"Yes, what you want."

"I think I'm the best judge of what I want."

"And you want all this?" she said, gesturing toward the mansion.

"I want to be married to you. The rest is just details."

"It's not supposed to be details, House! It's supposed to be the best day of your life."

"It _was_ the best day of my life. Until you ruined it by leaving me at the altar!"

The phrase "leaving at the altar," with all of its dramatic implications, rattled Cuddy a bit.

"I didn't leave you at the altar," she said.

"It sure as fuck felt that way."

"I just don't want to feel like I coerced you into something you don't want to do."

"Stop it!" he said. For the first time, real anger had crept into his voice. "Stop making it seem like this is something you're doing for me. You're scared. You're having doubts. And you're blaming me."

"I have no doubts," she said. "I love you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you."

"I have no doubts either," he grumbled.

"But be straight with me. Look me in the eye and tell me that you want all this."

He looked at her. Paused.

"I don't," he said, somewhat defiantly. "I don't give a rat's ass about of any of this. The guests, the fucking caterer, the shade of purple your bridesmaids are wearing. I just want to be your husband, Cuddy. I just want to start my life with you and Rachel."

"And I want to be your wife!" she said emphatically.

And for the first time, they both laughed.

"Cuddy, this is ridiculous," he said. "We both want the same thing. I don't care how we get there. I'll do whatever you want. You want to blow this joint, head out on my bike? Find some crappy little chapel in Nevada with an organist banging out 'Here Comes the Bride'?"

She sighed. Tilted her head toward him. He tilted his toward her until they touched.

"It seems kind of silly to do that, what with a whole wedding being set up for us, less than half a mile away," she said.

"My thoughts exactly," he said.

She opened her hand, pressed her delicate palm to his larger one.

They kissed.

"Gregory House, will you marry me?" she said.

"I will, Lisa Cuddy. I will . . . I will. . .I will. . ."

#####

The wedding was simple, fast, and very them.

Cuddy and House recited homemade vows.

She promised to always love him and cherish him and never wear a flannel nightgown to bed—"but if you think being my husband is an excuse to get out of clinic duty, you have another think coming."

He promised to worship her like the goddess she was and be a little less of a pain in her ass, at least on alternating Tuesdays.

And when the justice of the peace pronounced them man and wife, their kiss was long and lingering, and filled with a kind of love that permeated the room.

There was rousing applause.

House shook Wilson's hand. "Thank you," he mouthed. (He noticed that his best friend was a little teary eyed.)  
>Then he kissed his mother, kissed Arlene, stood awkwardly in front of Julia, his hands at his side, not sure what to do.<p>

"Oh give me a kiss, you idiot," she said, hugging and kissing her new brother-in-law.

Their first dance as husband and wife was to Cyndi Lauper's "Time After Time." It was a little different this time—House wasn't wearing a powdered wig, Cuddy didn't leave halfway through the song, and a beaming three-year-old wrapped her chubby arms around them and danced right along with them.

When the reception ended, House traded in his tux for a motorcycle jacket and Cuddy lifted her train to reveal her boots, much to the delight of the crowd.

His Honda was waiting for them out front, with a hand-painted sign in the back that read: "JUST MARRIED."

"Ready for our adventure, Mrs. House?" House said, tightening the strap on her helmet.

"House, with you, every day is an adventure."

And they took off.

THE END


End file.
